The glaring defect in the manners and voice of the American girl is that she is “loud.”  German Gretchen or Irish Bridget is more likely to speak softly in public than her rich young mistress.  It is often a shock to the observer when sweet sixteen seated opposite him in the horse-car, begins conversation with her companion.  Her face is gentle, her whole mien refined,—­but, her voice!  She talks loudly and laughs constantly.  One beautiful woman whom I have met,—­wealthy and well-educated, always reminds me of a peacock.  You doubtless have seen and heard peafowls often enough to understand the comparison.  The graceful motion and gorgeous plumage demand our admiration, until the creature, becoming accustomed to our presence, raises his voice in a piercing call, something between a hoot and a shriek, which causes us to cover our ears.  After such an experience, we turn with relief to the sober hens who are contented to cluck peacefully through life, reserving their cackling until they have done something of which to boast, and wish to inform us that the egg they have laid is at our disposal.

As a rule the girl who is prononcee in a public conveyance is not well-bred, and she who laughs loudly and talks noisily, meanwhile passing comments on those persons who are so unfortunate as to be her traveling companions, has no claim to the much-abused title of “lady.”  But you can hardly compare your manners and those of your friends with the deportment of low-born, ill-bred girls.  I fancy that you would find that everyone would pronounce sentence as severe upon them as upon you, were your actions the same.

I have been amazed before this at what I have been told, and at what I have myself noticed, of the failure of women to thank men who rise and offer them seats.

It would seem incredible that any person should so far neglect all semblance of civility as to accept a place thus offered as a matter of course.  It is a kindness on the part of a man, and should always be met by some acknowledgment.  If, when you rise, and lifting your hat, resign your place to a woman, and she, without a word, accepts it as her due, your only consolation will be to fall back on the comforting thought that you have behaved like a gentleman, and that any discourtesy of hers cannot detract from the merit of your action.  You did not do it for the thanks you might receive, but because it is right.  It is not pessimistic to assert that all through life, we are working on this principle—­not that we may receive the credit for what we do, but doing good for the good’s sake.  Do not be so rash as to say bitterly—­“So much for sacrificing my own comfort!” “Catch me giving a woman my seat again!” and those other foolish, because angry, things which a vexed boy is tempted to say under such circumstances.  Continue in the good way, hoping that “next time” you may have the pleasure of doing a favor to a lady who has the breeding to appreciate and be grateful for an act of courtesy.